


night auditor

by panoptykon



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Getting Together, but she'll get there, georgie's wonderful but that's no surprise, melanie can't flirt to save her life, my comfort characters went legend tripping and all they got were these lousy spooks, the ghost of algernon blackwood told me that purple prose is the only way, there was only one bed but it's a haunted house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24660916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panoptykon/pseuds/panoptykon
Summary: Upon entering the lobby, Melanie experienced, more than noticed, the disparity between the outside and the inside. It was not that the place lacked warmth; on the contrary, it emitted the sort of comfort that whispered tender words of reassurance and enveloped you like a weighted blanket. The inside of the house was, however, anything but lively. The warmth felt almost tranquilizing, a triumph of sedation over vigor.OR: Melanie and Georgie face the mortifying ordeal ofthere is only one bed. Little do they know that the true horror still awaits them._______content warnings:hauntings, manipulation, confusion, also it's a ghost story so there are some ghost-like out-of-body themes
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18





	night auditor

Any area with a high enough concentration of legend tripping classics is bound to turn some of its houses into tourist accommodations. These houses usually radiate the kitschy flavour of eeriness that can only be a result of a meticulous market research. There is a rugged brick wall that looks as if it had been fostered for the sole purpose of it crumbling. Dramatically cascading from around a solid wooden entrance is an English ivy that carries a sickly grey hue reminiscent of a mediocre vanitas. Approximating the period of completion or the architectural style often proves impossible; the miserable eclecticism doubtless serves to attract either misguided nocturnal pilgrims or cynical ghost hunting youtubers who are aware that commercial grotesque makes for an exquisite thumbnail. After all, there is nothing quite as inviting as a scarecrow ready-made for consumption.

This particular house exhibited every one of those features and, just like the others, succeeded in presenting itself as enticingly unappealing. And yet, it drew its true power not from a clientele-pleasing design, but from an authentic cheek by jowl aura. Inhabiting the house was a comforting presence whose fluidity allowed for a truly stealthy sedimentation. The source of the warmth that spread through the austere corridors, the intricately patterned carpets, and the brass chandeliers could not be traced. And there is a strange power to be found in a comfort so clandestine. Some might say that it is from the arcane that the best kind of solace springs, and what they say might even be true. But the hidden aspects of comfort can just as easily morph into the sharpest of fangs and drain the pure bliss they once nurtured.

***

One of the most important milestones for a youtuber is a collab. Quite often, it marks the descent into the bottomless pit of mediocre content. That was why Melanie King deemed it crucial to make her first collab both a treat for her newly acquired million subscribers and a monument to artistic integrity. A task hard enough to achieve on one’s own, let alone in tandem with another opinionated internet personality; the project’s success relied on a maximal creative compatibility between its partakers. Thankfully, Melanie had known of one friendly podcast host who fit the criteria.

Georgie Barker did not have a single ounce of snobbery in her, but her creative choices seemed to naturally align with those of Melanie. They had influenced each other’s work to the point where their individual styles were almost indistinguishable. It had become clear long before they met in person. Melanie could still remember the long solitary walks during which her only companion had been Georgie’s voice. And she was sure that Georgie had shared a fair amount of breakfasts with the recordings of Melanie jumping around and being ridiculous. They had spent so much time together that actually speaking to each other had, at the time, seemed more like a formality than a new quality. But Melanie knew it hadn’t been. Meeting Georgie had left a mark which only after a while grew visible. It could have been attributed to the amplified feeling of artistic inspiration, sure, but it was only quantitatively different from what Melanie had experienced before. No, Georgie did not merely make her feel inspired, she made her feel transfixed. She stopped Melanie in her tracks, rousing her and freezing her all at once. Not something anyone would want in a perfectly good friend and, as of recent, collaborator. 

Melanie had had her fair share of romantic endeavours, that, for some inexplicable reason, felt different. It was not that her previous relationships had not been laced with any emotional compatibility, but they had always provided a safe space free from unduly involvement. Melanie was convinced that in that particular situation, however, the unrestrained desire to commit would have far too much power over her. And she had no intention of letting it emerge.

On the day they were to embark on their ghastly journey, Melanie informed her and Georgie’s crew of the tight schedule she had in mind. Rise early, reach North Norfolk at noon at the latest, a few hours of sleep, dinner, and, finally, some night time exploration of Felbrigg’s Hall, the primary location of their video-in-the-making. Unfortunately, due to a series of completely preventable events ( _‘A slot machine at a petrol station is NOT a good reason to end our careers, Andy!’_ ), they arrived at the gates of their accommodation when it was already getting dark, and the prospects of a nap seemed miles away. Melanie knew of a few greater horrors than sleep-deprived ghost hunters, so she reluctantly agreed to pushing the recording to the next day. And, loathe as she was to admit it, she herself preferred a soft pillow to an EMF meter at that moment. There was something about that place that she would not have hesitated to call cosy.

The property had a garden that was not illuminated in any way, so its visual properties could not be easily discerned. But the fragrance that entered Melanie’s nostrils uninvited painted a vivid picture of something jovial and lively. It felt like biting into a ripe nectarine and adsorbing its condensed vitality. 

Upon entering the lobby, Melanie experienced, more than noticed, the disparity between the outside and the inside. It was not that the place lacked warmth; on the contrary, it emitted the sort of comfort that whispered tender words of reassurance and enveloped you like a weighted blanket. The inside of the house was, however, anything but lively. The warmth felt almost tranquilizing, a triumph of sedation over vigor.

Nobody stood at the reception desk as they were coming up, but after just a couple of seconds, a figure emerged from behind a velour backcloth. Enveloping the lanky frame was a bottle green suit that starkly contrasted with the pale skin of its owner. The owner herself approached her side of the desk at a very leisurely pace. She was beaming with contentment, but there was nothing particular about it, nothing distinguishable, just a hypostasis, impossibly human and not human at all. There was a body, and there was movement, and there were clothes, and features, and they all seemed faint and abstract. The floral smell that entered Melanie’s nostrils bore the only mark of tangibility.

‘Good evening, my name is Marie, I will be at your service today.’ The receptionist stated in a perfectly cordial tone. From her external appearance, one could think that she existed on her own, individual and particularised, but there was no air to her that felt distinct from the rest of the house. Marie could best be described as a mere extension of the severe stone walls, something not unlike their vocal cords. ‘Party of eight, under the name of Barker, isn’t it? Now, I have to inform you that there is one small issue. Our eight-person room has been undergoing some last-minute renovations and I’m afraid it is not available at the moment. But there still are four lovely doubles we can offer you. I am truly sorry for this inconvenience.’ Maybe it was just Melanie’s inherent distrust, but to her, Marie did not look sorry at all. Her entire expression remained indifferent, save for the eyes - they were filled to the brim with delight, as if she was internally congratulating herself on a job well done.

‘No problem at all!’ said Georgie, while collecting the keys.

Deep in her heart, Melanie had always known that the close-knit nature of the ghost hunting community would bite her in the ass one day. And that day finally came. She could almost feel all the inter-medial couples (who, just two weeks ago, had promised that Melanie and Georgie wouldn’t ever feel awkward) clutching to each other. Andy’s waist was suddenly claimed by What The Ghost’s producer, Tom. Toni smirked suggestively at Georgie’s editor, Sofie. And Pete On Sound joined hands with James On Sound.

‘No need to get so obvious about it. Get a room already. Or rooms, I suppose.’ Georgie shook her head in a faux exasperation and turned to Melanie. ‘Well, I’m sorry, this is a bit unexpected. Do you mind?’

Melanie tried to come up with something sharp-witted, but the best she could manage was ‘No, I suppose not.’ and a shrug of her shoulders.

***

Melanie’s expectations regarding their room had been anything but clearcut. She certainly had not expected a wooden vanity to take up this much space. She had not expected an antique candlestick flicking at her from the windowsill. She had, however, expected two beds. Two. Not just the one.

‘Now, that’s a surprise.’ Georgie huffed graciously and flashed a smile that under some other circumstances could have been considered mischievous. ‘I guess we can take sides on this big ass chair. It must be here for some reason.’

If there had been a moment to protest and offer to share the gigantic bed, Melanie missed it. Maybe it was for the best. The last thing either of them needed was a show of flustered inarticulacy. It is never a good idea to star in a video alongside someone over whom you have recently become an inarticulate mess.

It was pathetic, really. Melanie prided herself on her ability to relentlessly scrap, and kick, and dive for whatever pressing need would arise in her. To her, it seemed healthy; a way to sublimate the ever-present rage into something worthwhile. A way to justify it, to turn this misplaced anger into a righteous instrument of productivity. It made for a useful emotional disposition that assured her success and guaranteed her seclusion. There was no solidarity, no companionship in the kind of anger she felt. It needed her to make space for herself, and it was not willing to make space for anybody else. But the anger she would feel around Georgie was a different matter entirely. That anger was milder, less pressing, and it prompted no concrete action.

‘Yeah, sure, of course. Well, I’m gonna… brush my teeth. Hah. See you!’ Melanie sputtered and ran to the bathroom like a woman chased. 

When she was little, her dad had had a nickname for her - “little moth”. Up until the age of fourteen she had been accepting it without question. It just suited her, she’d thought, but she hadn’t exactly known why. Her dad had offered an explanation that even back then had seemed extremely cheesy. He’d said that Melanie, upon meeting someone, would cling to them like to a lamp until she soaked up enough information. She had a specific curiosity about her that, after considerable amounts of practice, allowed her to master the art of reading people. If Melanie had to guess what it was about Georgie that petrified her so much, she would say it was the never before experienced feeling of impenetrability. Georgie was kind, approachable, empathetic - but damn near impossible to read. To borrow the incredibly tacky metaphor, Melanie had no light to cling to. And that was not the right habitat for The Flirtation to flourish. Not in her case, at least.

Melanie’s musings were interrupted by a thick cloud of steam suddenly emerging from the sink and an accompanying piping noise ringing in her ears. A cold strand ran over her spine, but instead of freezing her in place, it sent a shock wave that made it impossible not to move.

Melanie jumped back from the sink in an instant, almost knocking over the towel rack, and ran out of the bathroom into the dubious safety of the rest of their quarters. She must have looked aghast to earn the staggered look Georgie was shooting her.

‘Jesus, what happened?’ Georgie asked, somehow nervous and reassuring in equal measure.

‘The sink, it… I don’t know, it started… fuming?’ Melanie regained some of her composure and almost laughed at how ridiculous she sounded.

‘Fuming.’

‘Yeah, like… I was just minding my own business, and suddenly POOF!’ Melanie exclaimed, illustrating the tale with a vague hand gesture. ‘And there was this… this noise, like a steam engine. Honestly, what kind of a place is that?’

‘Okay… I’m gonna be honest, this place does not feel as welcoming as promised.’ Georgie said and offered a faint, encouraging smile. ‘I’m gonna brush my teeth and check it out. It might be a faulty pipe.’

And with that, Melanie watched Georgie disappear into the ominous bathroom. She probably should have shown more concern, but there had been something about the whole ordeal that soothed her. As much as it had shaken her, it had not felt threatening, not really.

Georgie came back after a minute or two, looking perfectly calm and, to Melanie’s despair, just a little bit pitiful. 

‘Alright, I checked it out, and there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong. Maybe you just let the hot water running for too long? The bathroom is pretty cold.’ said Georgie and closed the door behind her.

‘I guess it’s possible.’ Melanie said bashfully and decided not to pursue it any further. ‘Sorry for giving you a scare.’

‘Don’t be. I’d fight a dozen evil sinks for you.’

‘My hero.’ Melanie replied, hoping to disguise the flush of her cheeks with a snark. ‘Right, so… I think I’m gonna hit that chair, actually. It’s been a long day.’

‘Are you sure you’ll be comfortable?’

‘Yes, obviously, look at the size of it. It’s massive! And I’m not exactly the tallest…’ Melanie accentuated the last sentence with an eyeroll. She knew that Georgie could not resist the opportunity for a friendly jab.

‘Don’t we know it.’ There it was. Melanie wanted to roll her eyes even more pointedly, but all she could feel forming was a smile.

The chair really was quite comfortable and Melanie welcomed the long-awaited wave of dreariness washing over her. She firmly believed in the value of a controlled good night’s sleep and refused to let booking mishaps or heat-sensitive sinks interrupt her rest. Not even the current encumbrance - an unpleasant floral smell that seemed to permeate the chair - could ruin it for her.  
It did not take long for the unexpected shaking to wake Melanie from her short-lived slumber. At first, she thought nothing of it, but the trembling was increasing in intensity by the second. The floral smell grew pungent to the point where it almost obstructed her breathing. She instinctively latched onto the arms of the chair and let her body match the pace of the quaking, but everything in and out of her being screamed at her to let go, and Melanie listened. She collapsed onto the floor in a pitiable attempt to escape. No surprise could be found in the fact that the situation woke Georgie up, too, and Melanie once again felt the familiar pang of shame that resulted from her own ineptitude. But Georgie’s expression looked as soft as ever as she started rubbing her eyes with her palm.

‘Melanie? What’s going on? Is everything alright?’ Georgie’s sleepy concern was a sharp presence in the momentarily quiet room; Melanie noticed that the chair stopped its shaking and continued to occupy its space in an utterly serene manner.

‘It’s nothing, sorry for waking you up. Must have fallen off the stupid thing.’

‘I knew it wouldn’t be comfortable!’ Georgie’s drowsy gentleness was replaced by a fierce scolding. ‘You are unable to _sit_ straight in a chair, not to mention sleep in one! That’s it. We’re switching.’

‘Georgie, it’s really not…’

‘Melanie. We can’t have you bruised up on the first day of filming! You’re the star, after all.’ Georgie resigned from her nocturnal post with surprising vigor and closed the distance between herself and the chair in a few sweeps. She immediately melted into the velour, letting out a pleasant hum. It _was_ comfortable.

Up to a point. Melanie did not even get a chance to settle in herself before the chair resumed its vibrations and reduced Georgie Barker, of all people, to a puddle of confusion. If Melanie were not terrified, she would be triumphant.

Georgie’s predicament did not last long, as she jumped onto the floor with more grace than Melanie could ever possess. A sharp exhalation escaped her pursed lips and she looked at Melanie expectantly, as if demanding an explanation. When it became clear that she was not going to receive one, Georgie spoke with an alarming flatness to her voice.

‘What. Was that.’

‘I have no idea, but the same thing happened to me.’ At last, Melanie felt confident enough to share her experiences. She was not alone in that realm of resistentialism, after all.

‘And you let me sit in it? It’s good to know who your true friends are…’ Georgie pouted and Melanie was glad to see her usual proclivity for banter making a reappearance.

‘I thought I imagined it! Didn’t want to worry you, what with the sink thing and all…’

‘There is something seriously wrong with this place. I don’t know if that was a wobbly leg or what, but this chair obviously won’t hold either of us. We can ask for a replacement in the morning. For now… Would you be open to sharing the bed? It’s big enough, I’m sure we’ll be able to keep out of each other’s way. If not, I can always take the floor.’

‘No!’ Melanie exclaimed all too eagerly before she could stop herself. ‘I mean… I don’t want to hear you complain about your back all day when we’re supposed to be filming. Bed’s fine.’

Melanie could have sworn she saw a glint of hopeful surprise passing Georgie’s face, but it was as brief as lightning. Besides, it would have been quite inappropriate to dwell on the matters of the heart at a moment like that. The menace of a chair was still watching them from its corner.

For a short moment, each of them seemed to be waiting for the other to move, but very soon they were simultaneously flowing towards their respective sides of the bed. Despite everything, it felt right, and seamless, and natural. Like liberation from the hardships of choosing, and from choosing wrongly. 

‘Alright then. If you hog the covers, you’re hosting my show for a month.’ Georgie chuckled softly and tugged herself in. Melanie could not help but smile at the adorable face she’d made, bright, blissful, accentuating the already pronounced dimples. It definitely called for some fond teasing.

‘You sure your viewers would be able to survive this dramatic a spike in quality?’

‘Bold of you to assume they’d even be listening without my name in the description.’ Georgie snickered and lied on her side to face Melanie. Her expression softened unexpectedly and the voice that came out shared the newfound gentleness. ‘Hey... Are you okay? I know the whole thing was kind of ridiculous, but still, you know… Spooky!’

‘I guess it was, a little bit. But I’m okay. Now it just feels so… distant?’ said Melanie, and she meant every word. Her mind turned soothingly foggy, clouding every bit of worry, and inducing only quiet sounds of contentment. She felt herself fading into the mellow and the quiet. There was nothing corrupt about that, nothing pressing, just the soft expanse of silky sheets, pleasantly cold against her skin. 

‘I get what you mean. Gosh, this bed is exceptional, isn’t it? At least something’s nice.’

‘Yeah…’ Melanie sighed fuzzily, converting the very meager remnants of energy into one last glance at Georgie. ‘Something is.’

There are people for whom trusting beds and trusting houses are manageable skills. Melanie had never been one of those people. To her, a house was not something with which she could or wanted to bond. A house was something to be explored, studied, and eventually abandoned. Melanie relinquished the right to govern it, or maybe she had never had that right in the first place. Maybe a house was just as much of a foe as everything else in her life. It could not be perceived as neutral, it had to be broken down to pieces, dealt with like with an age-old enemy. She had to make space for herself, and vacate it immediately after.

In that house, no matter how much it might have seemed otherwise, the space had already been made. Melanie could feel it in her bones, the ease and the acceptance, pulling her in, demanding her surrender. The house proclaimed itself safe, and whether the proclamation was true did not matter. The pursuit of truth could not hold a candle to a respite from self-preservation. No candle was lit. Time to sleep.

***

There was a body affixed to the mattress, and it only vaguely belonged to her. There was another, heavier body at her side and it secreted its own glow, sharp, focused, so distinct from the lightsome warmth that had laid her to rest. There were opened eyelids, and there was a bed, and there was a room, and there were two bodies, two people. Melanie and Georgie, Georgie and Melanie, stable and solid, not fading, staying still. If there was an exit door, it seemed far too demanding. An unwelcome guest that should walk out or simply disappear. The bed rejected a background and the room’s heterogeneity. It only held two bodies.

Melanie.

Georgie.

‘Melanie.’

‘Georgie.’

‘It’s warm.’

‘But the sheets are cold.’

‘Five stars.’

‘You bet.’

‘Should we get up?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘We have… things to do.’

‘Yeah, but are they important?’

‘I guess not.’

The stone walls drew colour from the uttered sounds. Her surroundings grew thicker but still paled in comparison to the two bodies. A room that non-invasively served its purpose demanded her trust, and she had already granted it. Suddenly, it felt easy to rely on something, to yield the decisive power, and let the non-human actor guide her. She stood within sight of the true importance and there was no need to reach.

Deep in her, there had been a plan forming. Or, more accurately, she had been preparing for a surge of bravery to outweigh her repressive tendencies for a long enough moment. But preparations are neither sufficient nor necessary. What matters is the amiable background, the felicitous circumstances, the removed obstacles. The space had been made not only for her, but for her leap of faith as well. The space did not have to be real.

For Melanie, a prolonged glance and an unbroken eye-contact were already a leap, and Georgie seemed to appreciate that. They were still laying in that impossibly comfortable bed, reveling in each other’s presence and feeling no obligation to do anything else for the remainder of their lives.

Georgie offered an encouraging smile, once again showing her dimples in their magnificent entirety, and reached out a hand in a gesture vague enough that it could have been interpreted as incidental. But there was, unmistakably, a fervency to her eyes that revealed both her intentions and the sweet, sweet patience surrounding them.

‘Georgie…’

‘Yes?’ A gentle voice flashed through the room, twisting, turning, landing in her ear. It was so full of hope it almost solidified the feeling.

‘I’m really glad I’m here with you.’

‘Melanie King getting soft… Never thought I’d see the day.’ Georgie responded and added in the most sincere and enrapturing beam.

‘You know you can just shut up, right? It costs nothing.’ Melanie retorted and congratulated herself internally on managing to keep up with the banter while her cheeks burned with a fire of infernal proportions.

‘It would cost me a great deal, actually. Poking fun at you makes me who I am.’

‘So, would you say I define you?’ Melanie asked teasingly in a fresh wave of boldness.

‘Now it’s your turn to shut up.’ Georgie rolled her eyes with a comical amount of fodness. ‘But, yeah, I guess you do, to some degree.’ Her expression turned earnest in a matter of seconds, and it very nearly blew Melanie out of the water. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who would inspire me that much. You’re like… Well, you’re ridiculous and you know that there are some choices of yours I _really_ do not commend, but… I don’t think I’d be the same creator had I not met you. I don’t think I’d be the same person.’

Melanie felt something in her chest tightening and loosening all at the same time. Her surroundings reached the never before seen level of vividity. She could almost touch the contours of the chest of drawers, taste the colours on the painting, smell the sharp mirror glass. Her own reflection in said mirror took on sepia tones, but it still retained its distinct shape, still was encased in the fabric of Melanie.

‘Well, I don’t think I’d be the same either. And I’m glad I’m not.’

The distance between them was slowly closing in what seemed like an inevitable course of action. Georgie’s hand remained in the same spot it had reached earlier, and Melanie’s fingers were gradually travelling towards it. With every move, they were fading in, merging with the white sheet, but still moving, still being moved. When their hands joined, it did not feel like a spark, but like a liquid pouring.

‘Melanie…’

‘Yes?’

‘Can I kiss you?’

There had been a time when a question like that would send her flying away, but that was not the time. That was not _a_ time at all.

‘Oh God, yes.’ Melanie breathed shakily and the distance was finally closed.

If meeting Georgie had been a small obelisk, the kiss was The Golden Milestone. Everything in their vicinity joined the divine amalgamation of body and mind, and there was no way to discern anything anymore. All was one, one was all, and if there ever had been a dichotomy between a subject and an object, any ontological nuance to be proposed, it ceased to exist. Or maybe there had been a major shift in what constituted the perceived and the perceiver. Maybe the latter had become the former and that was the reason she could not make the distinction. 

At the moment, it did not matter one bit to Melanie, as every single sensation she cared about, she had the ability to fully perceive. The peachy flavour of Georgie’s chapstick made her dizzy enough to warrant a collapse, but her beautiful friend held on to her for dear life, embracing her so firmly in those strong, fat arms, as if Melanie’s body could ever serve as a lifeboat. 

Georgie’s lips parted and she let out a high-pitched whimper, inviting Melanie in with an unprecedented impatience. Melanie was happy to oblige, as her tongue grazed Georgie’s teeth and proceeded to lick deeper in, commencing an eager exploration. Georgie moaned gutturally, and tightened the grip on the back of Melanie’s neck, pulling her even closer, which had seemed impossible just a moment ago. Melanie was already panting into Georgie’s mouth, tasting it all, drinking her in.

Every part of her being was being replaced with sensations, and she did not mind. She did not mind withering if she could still feel, and touch, and taste. She did not mind withering even if she could soon no longer feel, as long as she was granted this Moment for a short while. The Moment so fair, it had to take her to her final ruin. _Ah, still delay!_ But not for long, not for long.

There was nothing in her and there was nothing near her, just the room, bright and saturated, shooting daggers into her faded eyes. No feelings anymore, no sensations, no lively warmth enveloping her, just the first signs of frost emerging.

‘Georgie?’ She said or she did not. There was no one to hear it and there was no one to say it.

‘Melanie?’ She heard or she did not. 

The cold crept up the body that was not there, marking with hoar the limbs in limbo. The fear troubled the person that did not exist, leaving the mindless mind in stasis.

No reflection in the mirror, how could there have been one?

All thought, no action, no impact.

The will to come out, the walls closing in.

‘Melanie.’

‘Georgie.’

‘We need to leave.’

‘I know.’

‘But we can’t.’

‘We can’t.’

There were no more decisions to be made, there was no space for the mind in the concrete. There was only space for the two of them, together, non-existent but forever merged, built into the walls.

‘At least we’re together.’

‘Nothing to separate us.’

‘We’re gonna be so happy.’

‘We’re gonna be so happy.’

The house took care of them. The house knew best. The house had granted them the power. They had to accept it, they had to wield it proudly, confined in their space. It was so rare that they were given an opportunity to rely on something. The house was going to be good for them. They did not have to do a single thing. They could not do a single thing.

‘I want to do something!’

‘Let us do something!’

Rely on the house.

‘I’m so cold.’

‘I can’t even warm you up anymore.’

‘Are we going to die here?’

‘Haven’t we already?’

It was more than they could have asked for. A haven had not come with a promise of safety, it had come with a promise of care, and it made good on that promise. No viable complaints could be filed, no course of action could be taken. They were together, and that was what they needed.

‘We need to separate.’

‘What?’

‘We can’t leave together.’

‘No… You’re right, we can’t.’

‘I don’t want to leave you.’

‘I’m not sure I can leave you.’

‘You can. I can. We just have to decide it.’

‘Yes.’

‘What if we… what if that’s it?’

‘It’s not. Come on, let’s decide.’

Splitting what had been made homogenous bordered on the impossible, and, contrary to the contents of their reassurances, they knew it very well. But there was no other option, or rather, there was one, and they had refused to choose it. At last, something seemed more defined than the gruesome anatomy of the house. A way out. 

Her parting with the bed left a strain on the beating heart of the room and prompted the floral smell to strike with an unmatched intensity. She ran through the narrow corridors, her quickened breaths aligning with those of the house. Once again, she only had her own self and she was completely alone.

The walls were not made of raw stone anymore. The bottle green velour appeared to be moving in swift motions, surrounding her from all sides, and begging for a touch. She knew she had to pick up her pace, but the plush under her feet proved greatly disobliging. A longing for her combat boots seemed only appropriate at the moment.

There was no direction to follow, just the pressure to let go of the deceptive comfort. Where did the pressure come from? Why did she even strive to keep it? There was nothing waiting for her on the other side, except for an eternity of being in charge of the things that did not matter to her. No respite from her own self, only channeling the anger into the recordings. The house did not want her to prance around in front of a camera. The house had its own ideas for a show. 

It wanted to talk, or it wanted to have some thoughts over as guests. It wanted to be a gracious host. 

She had been enjoying her stay. She had been having a good time. She had felt truly happy for the first time in her life. And the plush walls were closing in. That you have not been having a good time? That you have not felt truly happy for the first time in your life?’ She was getting closer and closer to Melanie, seamlessly traversing the plushy hell. The house knew its guests, it knew what the willingly maladroit souls needed. It has had plenty of experience in catering to the willingly maladroit souls. She would have never managed to take a leap on your own. She was incapable of guiding her own self towards happiness. The house, though, the house could guide her, and the only thing it asked in return was that she allowed it to share the love it helped cultivate. When it came to her, it was the absolute best she could get.

Melanie felt the white hot rage growing in her, getting her ready for battle. It was loud, so loud and invasive it practically begged for a sharpened knife. She did not need to hear it. It wasn’t true. Except that it was. She had proclaimed herself a go-getter, a problem solver, but she could only really thrive on low-stakes missions. When it truly mattered, when it mattered _to her_ , she craved guidance she had never received. 

She knew what mattered to her, and she had had it within her grasp. Letting go of it had seemed a display of strength at the time, a conscious decision to release something she had previously gained. But it never had been. It had never been her achievement, only an echo of inanimate malice. The only thing she managed to achieve was putting Georgie in danger. 

Georgie… Melanie felt the anger getting its claws on her once again, only this time, its grasp was loose and gentle, a graze rather than a clutch. No orders were given, no action was commanded. She had been equipped with the necessary tools and it was time for her to rule.

What did Georgie do to deserve this? It couldn't end like this, not for her.

The house knew Georgie too. It knew that she'd known what she was getting into. It knew she deserved it, because she'd made a choice.

‘Yeah? Well, I’m about to make a choice of my own.’ Melanie said to the house, or to herself, or to nothing, and ran straight into the velour swathe, ripping its infinity in half.

***

‘Melanie? Melanie, please, wake up!’ A strangled cry prompted her to open her eyes. ‘Oh, thank God. Didn’t want my last words to you to be that. Way too cliche, if you ask me.’

‘Already with the jokes.’ Melanie sputtered in a raspy voice. ‘Can you just admit to being a romantic heroine?’

Georgie chuckled fondly and shook her head.

‘I cannot believe I was actually worried about you for a minute there. Should have known a bad thing never dies.’

Melanie spared a minute to take in her surroundings. She and Georgie were sitting in front of the gates of the estate, bearing witness to the sunrise making a surprise appearance in the grimmest of locations. The house still stood in its spot, but it did not radiate anything. There was an emptiness about it, not of an eerie kind, but a thoroughly bland one. No presence could be found there, no heart was beating. Even the garden had been stripped of its contrasting zest.

‘Not that I expect you to know, but… can I ask what happened?’ Melanie cocked her head to the side in an attempt to shoo away the look of bewilderment she must have displayed.

‘You’re right, I do not know. Not the whole story, at least. I remember looking for the way out. I remember the cold, the rearranging rooms, the stupid creepy labyrinth I actually paid for upfront! I remember the door, and the moonlight… And then I woke up here. To your motionless body, let us not forget.’

‘Sorry for taking a little longer to wake up, Miss Perfect.’ Melanie rolled her eyes, but smiled at Georgie earnestly. ‘No, I really am sorry, it sounds… less than ideal.’

‘I’m pretty sure you didn’t have it much easier.’

Melanie struggled to remember her own escape, as it all melted into an intersensory mixture of the floral, the heat, and the velour. She brought her palms to her eyes and rubbed for a couple of seconds, seeking the clarity of sensation.

‘What is odd is that, apparently, a whole week has passed. No million subs special, I guess.’ Georgie said with an inadequate level of indifference.

‘A WEEK?’ Melanie, on her part, showed enough emotions for the both of them. She instinctively moved to get her phone out, partly to check for the distressed messages, and partly because she did not completely trust Georgie not to play her, even under the circumstances. 

‘I already messaged everyone, but they were more angry and concerned. Apparently they received some messages from us…’ Georgie cleared her throat. ‘I quote “We went on an epic bender. Screw the vid. See you in a couple of weeks, losers.” You know, for an eldritch being, this… whatever it was, has a way with slang. I feel like my charisma has been drained from all the excuses I made.’

Melanie blinked a couple of times before she could confidently say that she processed the information, and proceeded to ask the lingering question. ‘What was that thing?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘We could check the history of the house… Maybe there’s something about a clingy safehouse that only recruits hot people.’ Melanie fluttered her fingers in what should have been considered a stellar example of physical comedy.

‘An interesting interpretation. We could try to confirm it, but… Maybe it’s better to leave this particular stone unturned. It’s not like we have a shortage of material to cover. And, to be perfectly honest, I would like to take a short break from researching the paranormal. I think we should just forget about it.’

‘I guess that’s fair…’ Melanie nodded hesitantly. Something was brewing in her, something equally as nervous as courageous. She still could not, for the life of her, identify Georgie’s desires and intentions. But the important thing was that she felt ready to ask. ‘So… Do we want to… forget all of it?’

‘I definitely don’t want to forget all of it.’ Georgie responded with absolute certainty and a dreamy smile. ‘Unless… unless you want to. Then it’s forgotten.’

‘God, you’re a fool.’ Melanie flashed Georgie a wide, painfully fond smile. ‘I guess we have to give it to this thing. It did bring us together. We couldn’t have done it without it.’

‘I think we could have.’ Georgie responded with a smile of her own. ‘I think we very much could have. And I think we did. It has no right to take it away from us. But, for the avoidance of any doubt, I would like to officially ask you out, and state that the request has not been prompted by spooky shit. What do you think?’

‘I think we, and we alone, can make it work.’ Melanie said and reached out a hand. This time, she would not fade away. And she would not let go.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! come talk to me on [tumblr](https://panoptykon.tumblr.com)  
> 


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